


Epilogue

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Baker-man [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 05:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Eric tells Jack about visiting him in rehab; Jack tells Eric about what he thought when he first met Eric.





	Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry I posted this to the wrong series! It’s fixed!

Epilogue

Aug. 3, 2018

Jack closed the door softly behind his parents while Eric finished the dishes.

It had been a lovely birthday dinner, if Eric did say so himself. Alicia and Bob were gracious and effusive in their appreciation for his cooking, as always, and Jack had relaxed as the conversation turned more towards what the correct temperature for steak was and less toward how Jack intended to get the Cup back to Providence.

Eric loved Jack’s parents, he really did, but talking hockey with Bob always ratcheted Jack’s anxiety level up.

Eric had more than held up his end of the conversation, telling tales on himself about his kitchen failures, dishing on the ongoing rivalry between Mama and Aunt Judy, asking questions about the Zimmermann’s various charity activities.

It had gone well, he told himself, scrubbing at the empty pie plate. Jack was pleased. He was almost certain of it.

Jack came in with the last of of the coffee cups from the dining room table and brought them to the sink, stopping to wind his arms around Eric’s waist and bury his nose in his hair.

“Wanna take a break?” he said.

Eric kept scrubbing.

“I’m almost done,” he said. “I just have to finish this and --”

“Is there anything that can’t keep?” Jack asked. “That pie plate will be easier to wash if you let it soak overnight anyway. I can take care of it in the morning.”

“I couldn’t have you wash the pan for your birthday pie,” Eric protested, still scrubbing.

Jack gently tugged him back from the sink, reached around him to turn off the water, and turned Eric in his arms.

“What’s going on?” he said. “You seem like you’re upset about something, but I don’t know what.”

“I’m not -- oh, lord, Jack, I hope your parents didn’t think --”

“My parents didn’t think anything except that you were the perfect host,” Jack said. “But I know you, bud. You never talk about what went wrong unless you’re thinking about things going wrong. Did I do something?”

“No, sweetpea, of course not,” Eric said. “I just wanted to make a nice birthday dinner for you.”

“And you did,” Jack said. “Thank you. Really.”

Then he waited, just looking at Eric.

“Jack, you remember when you told me you used to have an imaginary friend who was a baker?” Eric said. “And we laughed and said it was the universe telling you you’d end up with someone who bakes? It was that first time I came to stay here in Providence.”

Jack was still now, staring at Eric.

“Yes, I remember,” he said, eyes not leaving Eric’s face. “Why?”

“Because maybe your friend wasn’t so imaginary,” Eric said. “When I was finishing the pie … I thought I was hallucinating … and I … I saw you. And talked to you.”

“I didn’t see you this afternoon,” Jack said.

“No,” Eric said. “Not you now. You from nine years ago. When you were in rehab.”

Jack’s face fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was the time that made me think it wasn’t real to start with. But if what I remember is real, I wasn’t very nice to you then.”

“No,” Eric said. “But it’s okay. You were in a tough spot. And there I was with pie.”

“It was my first maple-apple pie,” Jack said. “That was the good part. But when I woke up again and it was there, I decided someone sent it to me for my birthday, and I dreamed the rest.”

“Jack?” Eric asked. “You said you your baker friend visited when you were a kid. But this is the first time I saw you. How many others were there?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Jack said. “I only remember a handful. But I think I at least managed to be polite the other times.”

Jack turned off the kitchen light and they made their way to the bedroom.

Once he was under the covers, Eric turned to Jack.

“Is it okay if I ask you more questions?” he said.

“Of course,” Jack said. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

“First, the pie stayed after I left? You’re sure?” 

“Absolutely. It was the best thing about that birthday.”

“Because the pie I made was in the kitchen when I came back. So somehow, when I traveled back through time --”

“And space,” Jack said. “The rehab place was outside Montreal.”

"-- and space, the pie replicated itself. Good to know.”

“The things you made always stayed after you left,” Jack said. “And they were always good.”

“Then why didn’t you like me when you met me? Or at least the things I made?”

“When I first met you, I didn’t think it could be real,” Jack said.

****************

13 Aug 2013

“Jackabelle! He brought pie!”

“What? Who?” 

Jack craned his neck to look behind Shitty.

The team was clustered around something, or someone. They were hooting and hollering and jostling for position, doing the opposite of sitting down and paying attention as Jack had asked.

“Guys!” Jack raised his voice to be heard. “We’re starting. Have a seat!”

No one sat.

Finally, a kid -- that had to be someone’s kid brother or something, right? -- extricated himself from the scrum, holding an empty ceramic pie plate,

His shaggy blond hair was in disarray, his eyes were wide and his cheeks were pink. He looked a bit like a scared rabbit, Jack thought, trying to back away from the guys.

“That’s all there is!” he squeaked. “I’ll bring more another time.”

Jack shook his head. He liked pie as well as the next guy, but it wasn’t something anyone should be eating before hitting the ice for the first time of the season. And it wasn’t like this kid would be coming back. He probably just came with family to drop someone off.

But he didn’t. He was a frog, all 120 pounds of him. And his hobbies apparently included ruining everyone’s nutrition plans, and fainting at the thought of a check.

Great.

It wasn’t like men couldn’t bake -- Jack had conjured up a baker to be his imaginary friend when he was a child, after all -- but if Jack was going to be serious about hockey, he had to grow up. No more imaginary friends, and no more comforting himself with sweet treats.

The kid -- Bittle, his name was -- looked a bit like Jack’s old Baker-man, with his blond hair and brown eyes, but the baker had always been confident. He wouldn’t have crumpled to the ice because Ransom brushed past his shoulder.

Looked like Bittle needed to grow up even more than Jack did.

****************

Aug. 3, 2018

“I was too focused on myself to realize you were the same person,” Jack said. “When you showed up, I was doing my best to be the man I thought I had to be, and that meant not giving in to … to anything that made me seem weak.”

“I made you seem weak?” Eric asked. “Because I was weak? Having someone bring you sweets made you seem weak?”

“You know I regret it more than anything,” Jack said. “I was so obsessed with being strong, and I was completely blind to how strong you were, at least at first. You know when I started checking practices with you, I didn’t think you would actually do it? I figured you’d learn to take a check or quit, and my money would have been on you quitting.”

“I know,” Eric said, and he hated how small his voice sounded. Jack had told him this before, apologized for it, been forgiven. Eric could see why Jack doubted his worth as hockey player, even. But it still hurt. 

“And then you were always baking,” Jack said. “Wanting sweet treats made me weak. Childish, I guess. And everyone thought I had a substance abuse problem. Wanting or needing anything … I didn’t want to go there. Especially since, well, you know what they said about my weight when I was little.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “What changed your mind?” 

“You,” Jack said. “It wasn’t so much that I wanted the sugar as that I wanted to spend time with you. After your frog year, I couldn’t not see how strong you were, how hard you worked. I really admired that, and I admired you. It almost took me too long to realize I was attracted to you too.”

“But with all that -- you never associated me with your visitor?”

“Once,” Jack said. “When I opened my bag at winter break and found the cookies. The baker-man -- you -- always showed up when I needed encouragement, when I needed someone to tell me I would be okay. Then there those cookies were. And you looked like my baker. But it wasn’t the same, because you were already back in Georgia, and I thought it was wishful thinking anyway.”

“I’m glad I made you feel better,” Eric said. “Even if it didn’t seem like it today.”

“Maybe it didn’t seem like it,” Jack said. “But you told me I’d go on to do great things, and that a lot of people would love me. It honestly seemed like too much to hope for then, but I started to hope anyway. I’m not sure I would have made it to Samwell without it.”

He opened his arms and Eric snuggled into them, resting his head on Jack’s chest.

“I’m glad you did,” he said.


End file.
